


Beginnings: a Florabella fanfic

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabella falls for her looks first, her talent soon after. This is my take on how Florrible and Misrabella came to be. Set in the summer of 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very, very late, this fanfic makes it onto AO3 about 7 months after I posted it on tumblr. It's still my favourite thing I've written and you cannot imagine the amount of research that went into it.

Isabella isn’t quite sure how attraction works for other people, but for her it’s a matter of one moment. She’ll have a sex dream, or she will look at someone for a split second longer than necessary, and in one brief moment of self awareness, her brain will go “…oh”.  
  
Occasionally, the “oh” is followed by “…fuck”.  
  
This is one of those cases.  
  
-  
  
Florence is sitting in a corner of the room and they have exchanged no more than three words since she came in. She tagged along with her boyfriend and his two bandmates, who need Isa’s help with mixing a few of their tracks and, in the two and a half hours the five of them have been crammed in the tiny studio, she hasn’t said a word. She has, however, been humming nonstop and bobbing her head like she was listening to her own personal tune.  
  
They have spoken before, so they know each other a little. Isa knows that Florence wants to make music because, honestly, how could you not know? She sings constantly; sometimes Isa doesn’t even think she’s aware of it. The other boys’ girlfriends don’t come to these sessions, but Florence does; her boyfriend will occasionally ask for an opinion and even when it looks like she’s not paying attention, she is always able to jump right into the conversation.  
  
Right now, though, Florence is not involved in their discussions: the boys are stumped on a decision because the fourth member of their band isn’t there, and they’re wondering what his input would be. Isa uses this time to sneak a long look at Flo, who is staring out the window with her lips pursed, hair tumbling down her shoulders and chest in messy waves. It’s an odd colour that isn’t exactly brown and isn’t exactly red, either. It’s lighter at the tips than at the roots, Isa notices, then moves on to consider how white and bony Florence’s legs are, and how she can look insanely pale and glowingly healthy all at the same time. She stares for two seconds too long.  
  
That’s Isa’s “oh, fuck” moment.  
  
***  
  
It’s not so much that Florence has a boyfriend, as Isa suspects that it’s merely a fuckbuddy type situation; it’s not even the age difference, although it _is_ daunting. It’s that they’ve never really spoken much and if Isa wants to get closer to her, she’ll need somewhere to start.  
  
It’s not even a full week until she sees Florence again, at some house party in Brixton she wasn’t even expecting her to be at. The minute Isa comes through the door, she spots her crossing from the living room to the kitchen, a flurry of floral print and wavy hair.  
  
Once she’s dumped her handbag in one of the bedrooms, Isa finds Flo huddled in a corner with three other people; her boyfriend doesn’t seem to be around tonight, but there’s a guy at the centre of their quartet who is trying to tune a guitar in the middle of all the noise. Admirable, Isa thinks - or crazy.  
  
She sees someone she knows on a sofa, and chooses to go sit on the armrest: a prime position to keep an eye on Florence, who is laughing with her head thrown back, exposing perfect teeth. The guitar boy decides the time has come to entertain the rest of the room, and sends one of the girls in their group to turn off the stereo; Florence starts singing - not quietly, not tentatively, but belting like her life depends on it. Everyone has to listen, whether they like it or not; some people join in. Isa sips her beer and keeps making small talk with her friend.  
  
Flo hasn’t seen her yet, in her happy little world of booze and singing. Isa mentally curses this stupid attraction – how on earth did it even come about? It makes her acutely aware of Florence’s every movement, even in a room full of people – even when Isa’s supposed to be spending time talking to somebody else. Still, Florence seems to have a sort of innate magnetism: if Isa was doing what she really feels like doing - that is, staring, completely captivated, at this slight little thing’s lung power – she’d be in good company.  
  
When she finally spots her, in the middle of a version of “Sweet Dreams” that’s bordering on reggae, Flo smiles and waves frantically. Isa curls her fingers back at her, patiently waiting for their “set” to finish. And when Florence finally calls a time-out with a shout of “REFILL!!!”, Isa makes sure to sneak into the kitchen just before her.  
  
Part of her feels terrible for resorting to such tricks, but the other part wishes to see Florence direct a smile just at her, so when she comes in, looking around for something to drink, Isa offers her her own bottle and smirks. “Good work, babe.”  
  
“Thank you,” Florence gives Isa the smile she was after, and Isa feels herself sink a little bit because now that she’s had one, she wants _more_.  
  
“I was thinking…” Isa says, “I’ve never really worked with a girl before, or recorded something with girl vocals. How would you feel about doing something together?”  
  
“Really?” Florence is wide-eyed and overly loud and Isa wonders if she is actually as excited as she looks, or just inebriated.  
  
She leaves the party that night with Florence’s number saved in her phone and a delighted grin on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence and Isa write their first song together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted @ songsaboutdrowning on tumblr.

When Isa arrives at the studio, Florence is already waiting outside the gate, sipping a creamy frappuccino, and although she’s not sweating, she is clearly suffering from the heat. There’s a saying that goes “I love summer in England: it’s my favourite day of the year” - this, without a shadow of a doubt, is that day.

Isa leads the way upstairs with keys in hand, and tells Flo to make herself comfortable while she checks to see there’s enough bottled water in the fridge for them to survive the afternoon. Truly, she is just trying to delay the moment they’ll have to speak because it finally hits her that they have never been alone in the same room and they might have nothing to talk about.

It goes without saying that, as the older and more experienced one – not to mention the one who came up with this idea in the first place – Isa has to break the ice.

“Basically, I work mostly with rappers, but I wanted to try something different, you know? Keep the beats as they are but with a different type of vocal?”

Florence nods, which doesn’t exactly encourage conversation.

“Shall I play you some stuff, and we’ll see what happens?”

“I might need a notepad.” Flo mumbles, reluctant to share her creative process just yet.

Isa finds her some scraps of printing paper that she’s not going to need, and sets about playing a series of recordings that she’s made in the last couple of months. Florence doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at her for that matter. Occasionally, she scribbles on her sheets and makes sure they are tilted in a way that Isa can’t see what she’s writing.

Mid-way through the sixth track, Florence speaks.

“Go back to that second one, please?”

Isa complies, and then, miracle of miracles, Florence starts singing over it, tapping her pencil onto the pages to keep rhythm, and the melody she comes up with matches the beat so well that Isa has to wonder why she hasn’t tried working with a girl before.

Then she remembers it’s because she’s not really had an unexpected crush on a baby-faced _female_ singer before.

It’s nothing like when Florence was singing at the house party last week: that was bold, boisterous, almost overconfident. Today, she is much more private and shy and Isa thinks she is even shaking a little bit. She wrote a nearly complete set of lyrics; it’s missing a bridge, but they can work on that. They go back to the start a few times, and Isa tries to fill in the gaps. When they think they have a final draft, they go over the whole thing one more time and actually record Florence’s vocals with Isa’s mic.

Isa wants to play it back straight away, but Florence gets even more nervous about listening to her own voice; she begs Isa to use headphones, and Isa caves. As she leans back in her swivelling chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling, Isa thinks she never expected this silly pursuit to actually produce something so beautiful. There is more to Florence than just the pretty looks and random little quirks, for sure. She’s skilled as a songwriter, considering her age and how little time she had to drum up those lyrics and once the jitters have passed, Isa knows the kind of sounds those vocal chords are capable of making.

“This sounds amazing,” says Isa, “for a first try. I think this calls for a celebration!! Pub?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence and Isa have a celebratory drink after writing their first collaboration.

The beer garden is packed, as the locals obviously know this may be the only chance they get at a summer. Isa and Florence sit across from each other at the very end of a wooden table, with G&Ts in front of them and sunglasses on top of their heads.

They’ve been talking for about an hour now, and Isa wonders how she could ever have been so worried they’d lack topics of conversation. Truth be told, Florence is as intelligent as she is attractive, and Isa finds herself focusing on what she says as much as on how much she smiles. And she laughs in such a physical way… she throws herself forward when the giggles hit, like a wave of happiness washes over her, and it’s contagious.

They discuss music, mostly, but films and filmography too; they have more in common than Isa would have guessed. She feels quite hopeful that this could actually become a regular thing without the excuse of making music. Although, if Florence wants to continue making music, she’s certainly not going to say no. The girl’s going to be a star one way or the other, and Isa would like to be involved.

When the evening begins to cool down, Isa waves her car keys at Florence and offers her a lift home, but she declines.

“I’ll be fine, honest! I have a book.” She says, reaching into her handbag and taking it out to prove she’s not lying.

“It was really nice having you over today. Just give me a text if you want me to put the track on a cd or something, ok?” There’s a fine line between _crush_ and stalker, and Isa feels it would be only fair if Florence was the one to make contact with her next time.

Florence nods. “Maybe I should call Andy and see if he’d come and record some guitars over it?”

Isa has no idea who that is, and it’s definitely not Flo’s boyfriend - she’s worked with him and his band enough times to remember their names. Perhaps it’s the guy who played guitar at the party? Not that it matters, because she would very much like the studio sessions to stay between the two of them, but she feels the need to be polite and ask, “Why don’t you bring your boyfriend?”

If she has to share her and Florence’s recording time, it might as well be with the little fucker who at least has the merit of introducing them to each other. _Get over yourself, Isabella, you’re 24. You can’t go calling him a little fucker, even just in your head, only because he’s sleeping with the girl you like._

“We split up, actually,” Florence adds, seemingly unaffected, “it wasn’t anything serious.”

Isa has to pretend to check her phone is still in her bag, to hide that’s she’s pleased at the news.

“Well, let me know if your friend wants to come along.” She says, forgetting for a minute this is not what she wishes for at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Jimena.

Isa doesn’t hear from Florence for two weeks. Her phone sits lonely on the desk next to her Mac and doesn’t beep with a text, or a call, or anything that could prove that Flo hasn’t forgotten about their project. It’s got to a point where Isa would have Florence over _and_ all her friends if that meant she got to see her.

Then again, Isa could be the one to make contact, but something’s stopping her. She doesn’t want to be rejected with an excuse, it would hurt her even more. If she’s going to be the one to call first, she needs to have a very good reason, and the reason finally arrives in the form of a friend who’s in charge of a new club night.

“Hello?” Florence’s voice on the phone is drowned out by loud background noise, like she’s at a street party, except it’s ten in the morning. “Isabella?”

“Oh god, don’t call me that.” Isa moans. “Only my mum calls me that!”

“Oh, sorry, sorry. How are you? Are you ok?” It’s weird that Florence thinks Isa would ring because something’s wrong. Then again, a lot of things about Florence are weird, and Isa should know that by now.

“Listen, I have a proposal for you. I have a friend who’s organising a new club night, starting a week tomorrow. He’s looking for new acts and I put your name forward for a 15-minute set, what do you think?”

“Wh- what?? That’s amazing!!” The background noise diminishes drastically and Isa realises it was probably just Florence listening to music in her room. “But how am I supposed to do a set?? I have no musicians… don’t get me wrong, it would be amazing but I really can’t think of how I…”

“You can play with me if you want? It’s only three songs at the end of the day, and we already have one.” Isa smiles. This is going way better than she thought it would. She honestly just wanted Florence to perform because she _deserves_ it, but if Florence has no one to do it with, all the better for Isa.

“Wow… sure. I mean, thank you, that’s great!! I can’t believe you thought of me. Oh my god!! We better sort out some rehearsal time. What are you doing tomorrow?”

It’s a good thing Florence can’t see Isa’s wicked smirk.

-

By the time the day of the performance comes along, they’ve had three more rehearsals and potentially _four_ songs, just in case they’re asked for an encore. They’ve worked differently this time, with Florence bringing in things she has already written and Isa doing the best she can putting them to music, knowing she will only have limited equipment when they get there. They’ve even got themselves a stage name, sprung by a comment that Florence made about Isa’s studio set up of keyboards and pedals.

“You’re like a little machine,” she says, “like all this gear is a natural continuation of your body or something.”

Isa finds that slightly forced, but impossibly sweet and she’s sure that, in Florence’s own way, she means it as a compliment. “What are you, then?” She arches an eyebrow.

“I always thought I could be a robot. I just don’t seem to feel the way that other people feel.” Flo answers, not looking Isa in the eye.

“You mean you feel more?” It’s definitely the most personal thing Florence has told Isa in the short time they’ve known each other.

“No,” Florence says, quietly, “less.”

She resumes doodling absent-mindedly on a piece of paper, sketching what seems to be a logo or a flyer for their performance. Isa doesn’t push it; she’s just exhausted and proud that over only three afternoons, “Florence Robot / Isa Machine” have planned out their first public gig.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence and Isa have a scary experience that results in them sleeping in the same house/room/bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Isa only had one studio at this point but for the sake of poetic license we will pretend that she already had the shloft as well as the little one.

They’re at a bus stop in Croydon after walking back from the club, and Florence has been sitting in silence for about ten minutes, which Isa recognises as an adrenaline comedown, a feeling she’s definitely more than familiar with.  
  
Isa swings her legs back and forth and thinks back to their performance: the audience reaction wasn’t bad at all. There were about 100 people, and she’s sure at least _half_ of them were paying attention. From what she knows of Florence by this point, she probably didn’t give a shit how many people were there, and would just be transported in her little bubble of music in exactly the same way if she was singing to three friends or three thousand people.

  
A noise from their right startles them both, and out of nowhere Isa sees two thugs jump the bus stop barrier and punch their way along the pavement. Florence sees it too, and her hand suddenly seeks out Isa’s, fingers closing in tight on her knuckles. Isa moves her arm across Florence’s lap, a protective instinct she didn’t know she had; not that an arm is much protection, but if anything is going to happen to them, Isa _knows_ that she’d rather take the brunt of it rather than let Florence get involved.  
  
One of the two boys, who are probably younger than Florence herself, pushes the other into a woman standing on the edge of the pavement. She falls to the floor with a whimper, and scrambles up to retreat under the shelter where Flo and Isa are sitting, massaging her wrist. Punches turn into kicks and for a second it almost looks like the blows are making the victim float in mid-air; when he somehow manages to get himself upright again, he runs off in the same direction he came from and his attacker follows suit.  
  
The whole exchange probably doesn’t last longer than twenty seconds, but Florence’s breathing is ragged, and she’s staring wide-eyed at the space now left empty by the two thugs. Having lived in London all her life, she shouldn’t be so impressionable, but something has clearly left her shaken and Isa has to ask if she’s ok.  
  
When Florence merely nods, Isa decides to be brave and link fingers with her. She lifts the corner of her skirt so that it hides their joined hands, and soothingly strokes Florence’s skin with her thumb.  
  
She should have just taken her fucking car, but then she wouldn’t have _this_.  
  
-  
  
When their bus comes, Isa, still nervous from the gang boys incident, identifies a flaw with their plan: she has to get off before Florence and change and, while Florence is certainly not new to night bus travel, Isa would feel terrible if something happened to her while she’s alone. Florence is fresh-faced and pretty, and from the outside, she probably looks very vulnerable, too, and it _is_ a Saturday night in London in the summer.  
  
“Listen,” she says to Florence, a couple of stops in, “I’m not gonna lie, I don’t like the idea of you staying on this bus by yourself. If you want, I have another studio in Crystal Palace. I have all my record collection there, I think you would like it.”  
  
She feels like a creepy guy asking a girl to come upstairs for his butterfly collection, not to mention that the studio is probably the size of a cupboard and doesn’t have a toilet; they could never sleep there. There’s probably not even enough floor space for the both of them, and Florence is quite lanky.  
  
Florence comes to her aid with a better idea. “Do you want to come to mine instead? My mum won’t mind.” Once again, Isa is reminded of how young Florence is, still living with her mum. “And we have a spare bedroom.”  
  
The idea of a bed is much more appealing than that of a floor right now, so Isa agrees and stays on the N68. Aided by the height difference, she rests her head on Florence’s shoulder and closes her eyes for the rest of the ride.  
  
-  
  
When they creep into the Welch’s house it’s almost 3 in the morning. Isa’s feet are in so much pain she took her heels off on the bus and actually walked the journey from the bus stop to Florence’s shoeless. Flo tiptoes upstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible, and leads Isa into a dark bedroom, switching on a lamp on a bedside table.  
  
“The bathroom is just next door,” Florence instructs her. “If you stay here I’m gonna go find something you can sleep in. I really should take you to see my room, actually.”  
  
Isa gives her a tired smile. “There’s always tomorrow. Sleep sounds good right now.”  
  
Florence disappears god knows where – this house is much bigger than the tiny artist pads Isa and her friends live in – and Isa goes on to wash her face, eyeing the cream coloured towels alarmingly: she would leave eyeliner streaks all over them if she actually used those. She dabs her face with a bit of tissue and when she goes back to the bedroom, Florence is standing there in an oversized band t-shirt and no bottoms. It takes a couple of seconds for Isa’s focus to shift from Florence’s long, bare legs to the outstretched arm that’s offering her a similar t-shirt.  
  
Isa is about to go to the bathroom again to change when she realises Flo isn’t paying her any attention; she’s gone and curled up on one side of the bed, making sure to be turned away from Isa to leave her some privacy.  
  
As Isa slips off her skirt and top, she hears Florence mumble, “This is kind of personal and I hope you don’t mind, but I have this thing where… I can’t sleep in a room by myself. Usually I will sleep in my little sister’s room or she will sleep in mine, but I can’t really go and wake her up now.”  
  
“It’s ok, you can stay here.” Isa’s sure she did _not_ tell her brain to say that, but it came out anyway. It sounds like she’s giving Florence permission, but come to think of it, this is actually _her_ house. “That bed is huge anyway. By my standards at least. I’m only little.”  
  
She climbs up into her side of the bed, and Flo turns the light off with a click. She rolls over to face Isa, and searches for her hand in the dark.  
  
“Also, sometimes I have night terrors,” she confesses, intertwining her fingers with Isa’s, but Isa’s almost completely asleep and all she can compute is that tonight, her reality is better than any fantasy she might have had so far.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grace makes an appearance (not her last in this fic).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear in mind Grace is like, 15 in this. I had so much fun writing her.

The next morning, Isa realises that she is stuck in the room until Florence wakes up; she can’t very well start wandering around an unfamiliar house, not knowing who is in and where to go. She checks her watch on the bedside table, and sees it’s only 9. The bright daylight must have woken her up through the flimsy curtains. The sky looks overcast, though; at least she won’t have to go back home in the heatwave.  
  
Florence has rolled over during the night and now has her back to her; as Isa contemplates that this would be a good time to put an arm around Flo’s waist and pretend she doesn’t know how it ended up there, the door opens halfway, and she finds herself staring in the face of a chubby blonde teenager. The girl looks at Florence first, and then at Isa. When she realises Isa’s awake, she waves a hand slightly: this must be the little sister Florence was talking about. When she’s about to close the door and leave, Florence’s voice comes from her side of the bed.  
  
“Grace, stop spying on me, you creep.”

  
“Now, for _that_ , you don’t get any waffles for breakfast.” Grace retorts, and disappears downstairs.  
  
Florence turns around to face Isa, who looks wide-eyed and a little confused, like she’s been inserted into some family sit-com she doesn’t know the script to. In one of her frequent “act now, think later” moments, Florence is drawn to brushing locks of Isa’s choppy brown hair out of her face.  
  
Isa’s pulse starts racing and her heart resonates in her ears. Her stomach rescues her from embarrassment with a growl so loud even Florence can hear it. She wraps an arm around her tummy and cringes, “I really wouldn’t mind waffles, you know.”  
  
Florence _bounces_ off the bed (Isa is sure that just invalidated at least one law of physics) and, still bare-footed, holds the door open for Isa, who rolls out of bed like a normal person and scuttles after her.  
  
The kitchen is bustling; Grace and two girlfriends are toasting waffles and cutting up strawberries. They must have had a sleepover of their own. On the table, chocolate sauce, bananas and whipped cream await. Isa lingers in the doorway, feeling very out of place in what seems to be a fairly regular occurrence for the Welch family.  
  
“Guys, you know my sister, Florence,” Grace says, licking some chocolate off her finger, “and I’m guessing that’s her friend Isabella who has the recording studio, but I can’t be sure, _because Flo never tells me anything_.”  
  
Florence rolls her eyes and reaches into the fridge, blatantly ignoring the jibe. “Juice?” she asks Isa, who’s still frozen in place. “You can come in, you know. We don’t bite. And we _can_ have waffles, too. I’ll just make it up to Grace, she can borrow some jewellery or something.”  
  
Grace responds with a theatrical gasp, like she’s in absolute shock.  
  
To Isa, who doesn’t have any sisters, this is completely foreign. She just busies herself munching on her waffle and trying to map her route home in her mind, while Grace and her friends giggle and Florence occasionally interjects in their conversation – she clearly knows the people they’re talking about.  
  
Perhaps from a sugar rush, or maybe that’s just her general disposition at home, so different from the aloof façade Isa remembers from a few weeks ago, Florence eventually stands and declares “Isa – come see my room!”  
  
Isa downs the rest of her juice and complies. What else can she do?


	7. Chapter 7

Florence’s room, just like its owner, is random, and every surface is covered with… stuff. There is no other word for it, just _stuff_ , from books to knick-knacks to jewellery to art supplies. Isa isn’t quite sure what she should do or say, if she’s allowed to touch anything or if this mess is actually some form of controlled chaos that will make Florence flip if it is disturbed. She does sense, though, that every object has a story, and she stops and stares at one particular piece of artwork that’s pinned to a corkboard and signed by Florence herself.

This is where most people would stop and explain the origin of their artwork; this is where Florence, instead, says, “I’m going back upstairs to take a shower. Make yourself at home.”

Isa knows what she wants to look for: baby and childhood pictures. She finds a couple on the windowsill, and chuckles to herself at how recognisable Florence’s smile is – and Grace’s blond hair, for that matter. Anything else feels way too private to look into: she will not open notebooks or sketchpads, it would feel wrong.

Deciding that this house is big enough that it’ll definitely have more than one bathroom, Isa figures this would be a good time to go retrieve her clothes from the guest bedroom and have a shower of her own. As she tentatively leaves the room and looks around on the landing, wondering which of the three doors that surround her might be the right one, she sees Grace coming up the stairs, _sans_ girlfriends.

“Are you looking for the bathroom?”

Isa gives her her best deer-caught-in-headlights look.

“It’s that door on the end. I can go grab your clothes from upstairs if you’d like.”

That’s kind, but no response comes out. Fuck, has she forgotten how to talk to someone half her age??

“Isabella?” Grace is starting to lose her patience.

“No, no, thanks, I’ll be fine. I can get them myself… and then I can use that bathroom, right?”

Grace hums a yes and shuffles into her room, closing the door behind her.

-

Clean, dressed and definitely more alert, Isa walks back into Florence’s room to find her cross-legged on the bed, towel drying her brownish hair. She has also changed into a white cotton summer dress and has once again slipped into that Florence state of hers, where she sings under her breath and tunes out of reality; Isa’s not even sure Flo is aware she’s re-entered the room.

She breaks the silence. “Do you know what bus would get me back to Crystal Palace from here?”

The unstoppable force that is Florence Welch looks up at her and says, “Oh yeah, shall we go and see your other studio now?”

-

Isa was honestly planning to go back by herself, but she finds herself unable to say no to Florence. Right now, anyway, she would do anything to get out of Flo’s house, where she feels like an intruder. Even if it involves nearly an hour’s bus ride and she feels bored with it before it even starts.

As they take their seats on the reverse journey from last night, Isa scowls. “Next time, we drive, ok?”

Florence doesn’t really have a response to that, so she copes by opening up her ever-present book and burying herself in reading. Isa quickly checks her text messages, and spends the rest of the journey listening to music on her iPod and drumming with her hands on her knees.

When they arrive in the teeny, cupboard-sized studio, Isa relishes Flo’s expression when she sees all those records, stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, a collection that could rival a good few shops, nowadays. Isa plops down on her padded chair and points to the deck, inviting Florence to play whatever her heart desires.

She’s surprised when Flo picks an old Madonna “Lucky Star” single, a record that, Isa’s sure, pre-dates Florence’s birth a good couple of years. What is not surprising, is the way that Flo immediately starts singing along at the top of her lungs, twirling in the very little space at her disposal, and waving her arms about.

There is something in the air, and Isa can feel it. Much as she wishes it was love – or simply _lust_ , why not – it’s actually a reluctance from either of them to let go and separate. The last 24 hours have been life changing - if not for Isa, at least for Florence. Isa thinks, to the best of her knowledge, she’s never changed someone’s life before. They worked so hard in the week leading up to the performance, and she worries that without a purpose, a show to work for, they will drift apart and everything will be lost.

When Florence dances all the way to Isa’s chair, puts her arms around her and kisses her cheek lightly with a “Thank you for last night”, Isa thinks maybe not everything is lost.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

Florence does that disappearing thing again. For a week, Isa hears nothing. Like a saviour, her PR friend texts her the date of his next club night, and she immediately dials Florence’s number, to no avail. She tries for a couple of days, and hears nothing back. Eventually she resigns herself to calling Florence’s house phone.

Thankfully, Flo is the one who picks up, and she seems quite happy to hear her.

“Isa!! Thank god you called!! I’ve lost my phone!! I’m pretty sure it’s in here somewhere but I haven’t seen it in days and I didn’t know how to find you!”

Had it been anyone else, Isa would think it’s the lamest excuse on the planet. Coming from Florence, it’s probably true and, she admits reluctantly, cute.

“I’ve got a date for the next club night, Miss Florence Robot. It’s in two weeks’ time, and we get 20 minutes this time.”

“…oh.” Awkward silence is not exactly what Isa was expecting. “There’s a problem: it’s my birthday in two weeks, and I’ve had a night out arranged for ages. Is it Saturday 27th?”

“Yeah.” Isa confirms, defeated. She doesn’t mind about the show; there’ll be other times. She just knows this means no rehearsal time, no Florence coming over to her studio, no watching her dance around and giggle, no writing together.

“That’s when I’m celebrating. My birthday’s the 28th. You should come, you know. We’re all meeting here at 7 and going on a pub crawl. It’ll be fun. My friends will love you.”

“Of course,” Isa says, and she means it. “I’ll be there, honey.”

A voice at the back of her head reminds her stubbornly that Florence is going to be _nineteen_. Technically, she’s still ateenager. Isa cringes. “I’ll have to put in an appearance at the club first, you know that, but I wouldn’t miss it.”

-

It’s not just that Isa believes in being fashionably late, it’s also that her mind is playing some very odd tricks on her, today. She has butterflies about seeing Florence for the first time in three weeks; she feels almost physically sick. At the same time, she almost wants the evening not to come, because it’ll be over as quickly as it starts, and she will be left once again wondering when she’ll see Florence next.

Finding a birthday present also proves almost impossible. Florence seems to have enough junk in her bedroom that nothing would be original enough. Eventually, Isa just buys a card, in which she writes _To my little Florence Robot, enjoy the last year of your teens. I am so happy you came into my life. Lots of love, Isa Machine._ It’s a little sappy, but not too revealing. It can pass off as a perfectly friendly message.

Walking back from the club to where her car is parked, she calls Florence to find out their whereabouts. They’re in the beer garden of a pub on Lordship Lane. Isa needs to watch her drinking tonight as she’s driving back; she hopes Flo’s friends don’t think that she’s a boring old woman.

When she arrives, she finds them easily enough as Flo is so bloody _loud_. Isa puts her arms around her from behind, and gives her a soft kiss on the cheek; surely that’s allowed, and judging by the number of empty pints on the picnic table, everyone’smerryenough that they won’t think much of it.

“Isa, this is Charlotte, Richard, Roxy, Sarah and Andy,” Florence says. Isa recognises Andy and one of the girls from the house party where she initially approached Florence. “Guys, this is Isabella, my amazing writing partner and producer. Can I open your card now?”

Isa cringes and wishes she wouldn’t, and the only thing she can think of to make herself scarce is offering to buy a round of drinks for everyone. When she gets back, balancing seven drinks on a tray like a pro, Florence scoots to make room for her on the bench. Isa settles down the tray and she’s not even fully seated when Flo hug-tackles her, returning the kiss on the cheek she received earlier.

“Thank you for my card,” she exclaims, a little too emphatically. “I’m really happy too, you know. So humbled. Grateful. Blessed.”

Isa’s amused at the string of synonyms; alcohol is clearly loosening Florence’s tongue. Her stomach flutters at the thought Flo has picked the word “blessed” in relation to their friendship. _Calm down, Isa,_ her rational mind tries to kick in. _Don’t read too much into it, she’s had a lot to drink._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for description of a panic attack.

After the last drinks bell has rung, the group move just down the road to a funky little bar that has a stage and a dance floor. Florence seems to be a regular here; several people say hello to her as they pass, and even if they don’t know it’s her birthday, she proceeds to drunkenly shout the information at every single one of them.

To her relief, Isa has settled into the little group quite easily, even though she’s not as hammered as the rest of them. They seem genuinely interested in her filmmaking and, even though their chosen forms of expression are different, they’re all artsy people in their own way: the group counts a dancer at Bird College, a wannabe stage manager, a set design student, two friends of Flo’s from art college and, obviously, Florence and Isa themselves.

They’re gathered around a fairly small, high table, crammed very close together because the place is so crowded, when Andy notices it’s just gone midnight, and he attempts to get the whole bar to sing _happy birthday_ to Florence. The whole group join in, including the birthday girl herself – who unsuccessfully tries to climb atop their table, stopping when she realises it’s way too wobbly and she would tip the whole thing. If Isa wasn’t so short, she’d happily be the person who grabs Florence by the waist and sets her back down on the floor; unfortunately, this honour sits with Richard.

Eventually, the barkeeper thinks it’s a nice gesture to give Florence’s party a free round of tequila shots, and even Isa can’t say no to that. Already overexcited and sweaty, the girls decide it’s time to leave the boys at the table and hit the dance floor. In the short walk from their table, Florence drapes a protective arm around Isa’s shoulders and Isa’s heart skips a beat.

_Stop it stop it stop it,_ she thinks. _You have no idea what this is doing to me._

-

Isa thinks she sees the moment Florence changes. Something comes over her eyes and they widen slightly; it’s like she’s seen a monster and this disturbs her. She looks at Isa, struggling to focus, and bolts towards the toilets without a word. Isa is quick to follow suit, but the crowd closes in on her and she loses ground. When she gets to the toilets, Florence is already slumped on the sticky floor, breathing heavily, arms wrapped around her body. She’s rocking back and forth in a way that’s almost unnoticeable, and definitely not healthy. Isa thought Flo was going to be sick, but she’s having a panic attack instead.

She gets on her knees and looks around in the otherwise empty loos. This bar is clearly not _edgy_ enough to have a lady ready to distribute deodorant, condoms and general assistance.

She can still hear the beat of the music from the dance floor, dulled by the two sets of doors in between. If she shouts, no one will hear her; she could go ask for help, but she sure as hell isn’t going to leave Florence in this state, not even for one second. She’s on her own.

“Florence? Florence, look at me, honey.” she says, placing her hands lightly on Flo’s legs.

Flo does look up, and her face contorts into a grimace, like even talking hurts. Her eyes fill with tears of frustration.

“Breathe, honey. I’m here. Can you take my hand?”

Flo tentatively unwraps one arm from around her stomach and takes the hand Isa is offering her. Her breathing doesn’t seem to be slowing down. If anything, it’s becoming more and more ragged. Isa thinks her fingers are going to be crushed; Flo’s chest shakes with uncontrollable sobs, and her eyes are pleading for help.

“Put your arms out a little bit, Flo. You’re constricting your chest. Open your arms just a little, babe, you’re going to be ok.”

Where the fuck are Florence’s other friends and do they even know she’s missing? Isa feels a rush of resentment, but keeps her expression neutral. She parts Flo’s knees a little and reaches out to distend her other arm as well. Very gently, she takes Flo’s hand and pulls her arm away from her body. She’s now holding both her hands, still kneeling uncomfortably between Florence’s legs.

Isa leans forward and speaks very calmly. “I’m here, Flo, I’m not leaving you. Breathe. You’re going to be ok. Just breathe.”

Florence gives her a pitiful look, but she nods. Isa can see that she’s trying to slow down her breathing, but she still comes up gasping for air every time and just the sound of it makes Isa’s heart shatter into a million pieces over and over again.

Finally, someone comes looking for them. One of Flo’s friends - which one is she again? - opens the door and shouts “Oh my god!!” and kneels down next to them.

“Is she ok?” she asks Isa, who doesn’t acknowledge the question at all.

“Can you go to the bar and ask for some tap water?” She commands, no time for _please_ and pleasantries, eyes still trained on Florence. “After that, we’re out of here.”

When Charlotte – that’s her name – comes back a few minutes later with backup and water, Florence’s breathing is almost back to normal. Isa disentangles one of her hands to accept the water gratefully, and asks “Can you take this, honey? Drink slowly. Just a little sip.”

Flo lifts her free hand and tentatively wraps it around the plastic cup, brushing Isa’s fingers in a way that makes Isa’s breath catch.

She drinks, and tries to straighten her back, and Isa knows the worst is over.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we get rid of Florence’s other friends so that she and Isa can get into the same bed. Again.

With the help of two of Flo’s friends, Isa gets her safely home. Sarah is in the front seat being the navigator, since Isa has no clue where exactly Florence’s house is, while Charlotte is in the back holding Flo’s hand, in charge of raising the alarm if Flo needs to throw up.

They get back to Camberwell virtually unharmed, and Sarah finds the house keys in Flo’s satchel, trying to make as little noise as possible when she opens the door. Isa and Charlotte are holding Flo up, one on each side, and help her up the stairs. Florence has been in a stunned silence for the past half hour, but when they sit her on the bed, she manages to say “Isa, don’t leave” in a hoarse whisper.

Isa shoots the others an embarrassed look, but they look tired and probably happy to make their way back home.

“It’s ok, the night bus stops just outside the green,” Charlotte says. “Neither of us lives very far. Bye, Flo.”

She leans down to kiss her cheek, while Sarah just gives Flo’s arm a little rub.

“Night, Flo”, she adds, then, turning to Isa, she hugs and thanks her.

“We would have been so lost without you there,” Sarah says, a little weepy, “you were awesome.”

Hearing this, Florence squints and says “Thank you” to no one in particular, then the girls show themselves out, leaving her with Isa.

Isa has to acknowledge the fact that Florence will not and cannot sleep alone, especially in this state. She doesn’t even ask Flo if she wants her to stay: she knows she is expected to.

“Flo, honey? Will you let me go get a water bottle before we get to sleep?”

Florence nods in response and slides down onto the bed, exhausted.

-

Isa comes back with the biggest bottle she could find, filled from the tap and still dripping. She makes Flo sit up and drink a little more before she goes to sleep.

“This is going to hurt in the morning,” she comments, more to herself than anything else.

“I’m ok now. You saved me,” Flo slurs, and the choice of words makes Isa smile, even though it’s just a sign of Flo’s intoxication. She was never in any real danger; she just needed someone there with her, and Isa’s glad she got to be that person. There must be so much Florence is not telling her, about why the fuck she gets so nervous, and has night terrors and panic attacks.

Isa pulls the bedsheets out from under Florence and around them both. They lie down, still in their clothes. Isa’s not about to rummage through Florence’s draws just to find something to wear; besides, she’s very unwilling to break contact with Flo now that they are side by side and she has the perfect excuse to hold her in her arms.

“You’re ok, yes,” Isa mumbles, not caring if Florence can make out the words or not. “I’m not leaving you, Flo. You can sleep now. I’m going to be here with you, all night. I’m not going anywhere.”

She caresses Flo’s hair gently, just above her ear, and every time Florence exhales, Isa’s heart swells with an irresistible urge to tell her she loves her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to theheightsofmachupicchu (hardest username to ever spell or what? :P) who sent me a lovely fan mail about the way I wrote Grace.  
> She makes a comeback in this chapter and I hope you all enjoy it :D

When she stalks out of Florence’s bedroom the next morning, with her clothes all wrinkled, she almost slams face-first into Grace – who, she notices, is already taller than her and probably not even done growing up yet.

“Morning, Isabella Machine.” The teenager quips, moving as if to get into the room Isa just came out of.

“Don’t go in there, Gracie. I wouldn’t go in there for quite a while if I were you.” Isa says, in case Grace is the only kid in all of London who hasn’t yet experienced hangover, either personally or vicariously.

“Rough night?”

“Not for me, no.” _I was too busy taking care of Florence, because at least I had the excuse that she was drunk._

“Just wondering… are you sleeping with my sister?”

Where the hell did _that_ come from?? How old is this girl? 14, 15? Should she even know about stuff like that?

“…no?” She hates how it sounds like a question. It’s not a question. She isn’t. She wants to, but she isn’t.

“Bet she’d like that, though.” Grace gives Isa an appreciative once-over and starts happily down the stairs without looking back.

Ok, ok; this is not about her, this is about _Florence_. Grace is looking for ammo to tease Florence with. Fair enough, even though she has it completely the wrong way around. Still, someone else might pick up on it pretty soon and mention something to Flo, who will suddenly clue up about Isa’s feelings and not want to see her ever again.

Isa wants to bang her head against a wall, but she goes to shower instead. After all, showers have walls too.

-

She decides to go home. Florence is still sleeping like a log and Isa doesn’t need to be hanging around. Besides, Grace will surely pounce on Florence the minute she wakes up, asking question upon question about what happened last night, and Isa isn’t sure she wants to be there to witness this third degree. Especially the part where they slept in the same bed, and Isa kissed Flo’s forehead before sneaking out, and whispered “Happy birthday, Flo. I love you”. Florence didn’t stir or smile, so Isa’s pretty sure she slept right through it, but just in case she didn’t…

Her mind reels with the advice people usually give in these cases: “You have to let her go”. It’s been two months, and what has she concluded, exactly? Sweet f-all. Pangs of longing every time Florence smiles and the sensation that someone is kicking her in the stomach whenever they’re about to meet. All the glances that she steals when Florence thinks she’s not looking that make her feel like she’s being sucked in deeper and deeper away from sanity.

She realises too late she’s driven to the little studio instead of home, but that’s ok. She clearly needed to be here more than anywhere else. She’s too tired to start the car again and if she can’t be home, she also doesn’t want to be where she and Florence wrote their first few songs. Even though this place isn’t any less haunted, there is at least a smaller array of memories to dip into. Flo has only been here once before.

Isa locks both doors and puts on a vinyl of Madonna’s “The first album” in Florence’s honour. She throws herself onto the swivelling chair and the motion wheels it almost all the way against the wall, where she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, needing so badly to cry, but wanting to be unfeeling. Unfeeling, like Flo; a robot.

She doesn’t even notice when the first side finishes playing, doesn’t flip the record; she just stays in her chair and weeps silently, wanting to be stronger. She stays that way for a very long time, until something crashes against the outside door of the studio, startling her. She must have fallen asleep for a little while.

Isa tries to peer in the half a centimetre between the curtain and the door window, trying to make as little noise as possible and making sure she keeps her phone close in case she needs to call 999, but an all too familiar silhouette is standing on the other side of the glass.


	12. (+ epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my 2 wonderful betas who told me I was putting too many rooms in Flo’s house; to the chavs in Croydon who scared the shit out of me but inspired chapter 5; to the bars on Lordship Lane one Thursday afternoon; and to everyone who liked, followed and reblogged. I love you all muchly ♥ ♥

Isa unlocks the door and Florence throws herself at her, pulling her in a full-body hug. Flo doesn’t speak at first; she just kicks the door shut with her heel and holds on.

“I’ve been knocking for ten minutes,” she says finally, “your car’s parked outside. I was so worried.”

Isa isn’t sure if she’s imagining this, but Florence nuzzles her hair with her nose and inhales deeply.

“You were gone when I woke up. I had my mum drive me here.”

“How are you feeling?” Isa’s words are muffled against Florence’s shoulder and the silky fabric of her blouse.

“Honestly? Like I haven’t slept in about a century.” Flo replies in a soft staccato. “You don’t want to be in my head right now, there’s teeny tiny drums having their own little concert.”

Isa chuckles, and finally steps away from the embrace, but she forgets that she’s been crying and that Florence can see it.

“Isa, what’s wrong?” Florence asks, tracing the streaks of runny eyeliner with her thumb. This only makes Isa well up again, like she’s been reminded of the reason she was crying in the first place. The reason she ran here in the first place. Nothing is _wrong_ , per se. Her loving Florence is not wrong. Just… unfortunate.

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t be spending your birthday looking for me, Flo. Go home. You should be with your family.”

Florence shakes her head. “You were there for me last night, Isa, now let me help _you_.”

Isa bites her lip, angry at herself that she can’t keep a big, warm tear from falling down her left cheek and along Flo’s thumb.

Florence removes her hand from Isa’s face and holds her again. “Please tell me what’s wrong. There must be something I can do to make you feel better.”

That seals it. Before she can stop herself from committing the most foolish act of her life, Isa says, clear as day, “Kiss me, Florence.”

And Florence does.

-

She would think of a quip, something to make it all seem less serious, like “feel better now?” but the truth is that Florence is completely dumbfounded by how perfectly _right_ this feels and she’s not going to stop now to make comments.

Isa, who was expecting a close-lipped consolatory peck, is not at all prepared for a full-blown snog, or for the momentum with which Florence pins her with her back against the wall. She tangles her fingers in Flo’s sleek hair and repeats to herself like a mantra, _enjoy this, because you don’t know how long it’s going to last._

Eventually, she has to come up for air, and shecouldspeak, shecouldtry to make sense of what just happened, but she doesn’t trust herself. Besides, all she wants to do is start it all over again.

She puts a hand at the nape of Florence’s neck and pulls her down, initiating the kiss this time, the taste of Florence’s breath foreign and intoxicating. Lust vibrates through her whole body in a way that’s alien to her, and she truly believes she might pass out if this goes on for much longer. When Flo’s hand insinuates its way under her top and she feels fingers grazing her ribcage, she suddenly remembers Grace’s words: _Bet she’d like that, though._

What does the fourteen-year-old know that Isa doesn’t? Has Florence done this before? Does she like girls?

“Flo,” she says, breaking contact for a moment, “do you… I mean are you…”

“Attracted to you? In love with you? Fuck, _yes_ ,” Florence hisses with eyes half-closed, “all of the above, yes.”

Isa feels like it’s her turn to say something, but Florence continues. “I’m not as much of a robot as I like to think I am.”

Isa giggles and, for a minute, forgets the seriousness of the moment. She shakes her head, still incredulous. She can almost pinpoint the exact moment that she first admitted to herself she wanted this: now it’s finally happening, she doesn’t know that she wants to waste time talking. All she wants is to feel her head rush with the drunkenness of kissing Florence and forget about everything else in the world.

“I know I’ve not been the best at showing it. I am shit at giving signals.” Florence murmurs. “But I do. Love you, I mean.”

A grin threatens to erupt out of Isa’s dazed expression. She hooks two fingers in Florence’s belt loop and jerks her slight body closer to hers, and whispers “…and I you.”

She wants to kiss her again, but a nagging doubt creeps its way into her thoughts. “Are you sure you want this?”

Florence doesn’t need to think about it, but she still makes the effort to pause and breathe in, like she’s considering the question. When Isa looks into her eyes, they are clouded with something that isn’t just desire or sadness. Florence doesn’t speak, but Isa hears her answer, she hears it loud and clear. It says _if only you knew._

Their mouths meet halfway this time, and Isa knows nothing will ever be the same again.

=============================

**Epilogue**

They stand at the side of the stage waiting to go on for their set, which gets longer every time. They actually have a full half hour tonight.

Isa leans back into Florence’s embrace and chuckles when a naughty hand slips under her jumper. Rather than slapping the hand away, Isa spins around and looks up at Flo with a giddy smile; she knows that will get her a kiss.

Predictably, it works. Isa still marvels every time at the way time seems to stop when their lips touch. They could be anywhere; she doesn’t hear anything, is not aware of anything around her. There’s just a buzzing in her ears and a weakness in her knees.

Breathless, Florence murmurs in Isa’s hear, “I love you like a robot loves a machine.” That is their new, ridiculous catchphrase, one that only two girls in love could ever come up with.

“Love you back, beautiful,” Isa says, cupping Florence’s cheek in her hand, “and I’m so proud of you.”

She thinks back to something that happened earlier tonight.

_A group of five kids about Florence’s age approach them both and declare they’ve come here especially to see them. Flo’s jaw drops slightly at first, but she recovers quickly. She gives the kids the most beautiful smile, which makes Isa fall in love with her all over again._

_Her heart swells; she can’t believe people are taking the trouble to come to bloody Croydon to see Florence sing. Florence: her best friend, her lover, her partner in crime. Florence who can wrap a room around her little finger; Florence who is fearless._

Isa takes her hand and drags her onto the stage.

It’s time.


End file.
